With Kyōichi's assistance, the camp's wounded had been largely treated, allowing the remaining shinobi to begin withdrawing from the frontlines the next day.
This included the Uchiha police force.
For the Uchiha, this mission had been frustrating.
They'd arrived at the front, yet aside from the final battles against Kiri and Kumo, they'd spent most of their time on patrols and menial tasks—never getting a chance to fight.
Many clansmen seethed with discontent.
But Fugaku?
He harbored no such resentment.
Instead, he sensed something deeper—
This might signal a thaw in Konoha's stance toward the Uchiha.
The Sandaime genuinely sought reconciliation.
Obito and Shisui had performed admirably in the war. Obito, though straightforward, was pure-hearted—a fine shinobi.
Shisui was even better.
Smarter, more dependable, and poised for greater responsibilities.
In part as an inheritor of the Nidaime's philosophies, the Sandaime had no desire to eradicate the Uchiha unless absolutely necessary.
This was where he diverged from Danzō.
Still.
Reconciliation required the Uchiha to meet him halfway.
Hopefully, Fugaku understands.
The Sandaime sighed.
"By the way, where's Orochimaru? What's he been up to lately?"
"Huh? You're asking me?"
Jiraiya, lost in thoughts of post-war plans, stiffened at the sudden question.
To tell…
Or not to tell?
"Weren't you tailing him yesterday?"
The Sandaime raised an eyebrow.
Jiraiya coughed violently—he'd forgotten the old man's that jutsu, which let him monitor events remotely. Reluctantly, he admitted, "Nothing major. He compiled a list of Senju descendants, probably to help Kyōichi accelerate that technique's development."
"Senju descendants…"
The Sandaime frowned.
If purely altruistic, fine. But he feared darker motives—like…
Bloodline revival.
"It's not what you're thinking. I believe he's found… a different purpose through Kyōichi."
Jiraiya spoke carefully.
He'd pondered Orochimaru's words and concluded this "other path" wasn't the twisted obsession they'd assumed.
Especially if Kyōichi was involved.
Kyōichi researched, but with rigid ethics.
As for Orochimaru's true intentions?
Frankly…
Jiraiya agreed with half his old teammate's jab—
He didn't understand Orochimaru.
Once, he'd thought he did. Now? The man's drives remained inscrutable.
"Let's hope so."
Master and student shared separate worries.
Meanwhile, Orochimaru—
Couldn't care less about their opinions. He pursued his studies unabated, though Kyōichi's next steps eluded him.
Previously, he'd sought immortality through soul transfer.
Now?
He wanted both eternal life and a legacy etched into shinobi history.
Why choose?
Yet had he consulted Kyōichi, he'd have realized—
Kyōichi's ambitions were far simpler.
Make money. Improve lives. Raise plump "sheep" to shear.
As for Madara and the Ōtsutsuki?
Cross that bridge later.
Survival came first.
Fame? Glory?
Mere distractions.
Take now, for instance—
"Sensei! Mokuton! It's Mokuton!"
Kurenai's shriek drew stares as she gaped at Kyōichi's palm.
A tiny sprout—indistinct whether grass or sapling—had breached the soil in his hand.
Minuscule. Barely visible.
Then—
His Mokuton chakra destabilized.
The sprout withered instantly, dying before their eyes despite Kyōichi's frantic chakra infusion.
"Lower your voice! This isn't Mokuton! You saw nothing, understood?"
Kyōichi canceled the jutsu, face darkening.
Mokuton?
This wasn't even "Grass Release"!
He'd once privately mocked Fū's "Green Technique" as unworthy of the Mokuton title.
Now?
The irony.
And Kurenai's outburst—
Mortifying.
Fortunately, most seemed oblivious.
Kyōichi pondered the failure.
After a day of analysis using the system's Hashirama cell data, he'd reverse-engineered partial Mokuton principles.
Success?
Barely.
"But it did sprout! Isn't that progress?"
"True success wouldn't end in decay."
Kyōichi discarded the soil, avoiding elaboration—he was as baffled as she was. The chakra had collapsed within seconds.
Solution?
Hashirama cell samples.
Acquiring them would be tricky, given the scrutiny.
But as a quasi-ANBU captain, he could leverage his position for legitimate access.
Just gotta return first.
He itched to depart, yet—
The convoy moved as one.
Behind him, Kurenai lagged, exhausted.
A year of taijutsu training had strengthened her, but pre-graduation, she'd never have endured this march.
Kyōichi channeled chakra into her using Reverse Chakra Absorption, converting it to physical and mental energy to sustain her.
An idea struck—
This could revolutionize training!
Stamina failing?
He'd replenish it.
As long as consciousness held, they'd push beyond limits.
Brutal?
Effective.
Kurenai gritted her teeth, advancing from the rear to the vanguard under his support.
Onlookers watched enviously.
Few had mentors so devoted.
Moreover—
Kyōichi's reputation now rivaled the Sannin and Minato's Flying Thunder God. Among western forces, his prestige eclipsed even theirs.
He'd spearheaded that front—devising Kirin, confronting Ōnoki, capturing Tsuchi and Rōshi.
Minato's raids had merit, but lacked the visibility of open battle.
Thus—
Countless now coveted apprenticeship under him.
Alas.
His three students were all underage—Shisui barely six.
Kurenai, now a chūnin, remained too young for most teams outside wartime. Like Kakashi before her, she'd likely stay under Kyōichi's wing.
No vacancies.
Not even clan influence could force an opening.
Some had begun eyeing alternatives—
Marry into the next generation.
Asuma. Kurenai.
If they couldn't learn from Kyōichi, perhaps their children could?
This notion had taken root—among the Yamanaka, Aburame, and others.
Konoha's central location in the Land of Fire meant the northeast return journey wasn't excessively long.
Even with wounded slowing the procession, two days sufficed.
Their group—mostly elite chūnin and above—moved swiftly, with only Kurenai and the injured lagging.
Her recovery boosted their pace.
At a rest stop, the shinobi consumed soldier pills beneath scattered trees.
Kurenai dozed off instantly—
Zero vigilance.
Kyōichi shook his head, settling nearby when a faint rustle alerted him.
Kakashi perched above, hesitating.
Then—
A tap on his shoulder.
He whirled to find Kyōichi behind him, kunai in hand, deadpanning, "Spying?"
"N-no! I just… wanted to demonstrate my progress with your Lightning technique."
Kakashi's voice faltered.
"Save it for the village. But once you master chakra concentration, try vibrating it at high frequencies."
Kyōichi recalled Killer B's methods.
Kakashi nodded thoughtfully before lapsing into silence again.
"Out with it."
"Your Earth-Style sword technique… any breakthroughs? Just curious."
Pre-Kyōichi, Kakashi had considered himself among Konoha's elite kenjutsu practitioners.
Reality had humbled him.
Especially regarding Earth techniques.
"Know Lightened Rock and Weighted Rock? Density manipulation via chakra nature. I'm still experimenting, but weight alteration seems key."
"Research is good. Talents differ—you might crack it before I do."
Kyōichi encouraged rather than chastised.
Initiative trumped complacency.
"Thank you, Kyōichi-sensei."